


Stretch out with your feelings

by gloss



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Fellatio, M/M, Treat, force sensitive sex, obi-wan would be so disappointed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-02-18
Packaged: 2018-05-21 09:08:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6045937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloss/pseuds/gloss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Han's drunk, Luke's annoyed. Just another night.</p><p>Post-A New Hope, pre-Empire. You know. Porn-time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stretch out with your feelings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dadcastellanos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dadcastellanos/gifts).



> Hey, I hope you like this? Your prompts were fantastic and I'm afraid this isn't nearly as plotty as any of them.

Luke sat cross-legged in one of the cargo compartments, eyes closed, palms turned up. The _Falcon_ was powered down, empty but for him, quiet.

He breathed out slowly. The memory of a Tatooine sand storm spun at the center of his mind, building speed, growing taller, He saw the individual grains, each one bright as a spark, and he saw the entirety of the whirling column reaching toward the night sky.

He was entering the gyre. Its energy moved through him, took him up, spun him out into a billion bright particles.

"The whores of Fd'landra!" Han was singing; his voice came, louder and then louder again, somehow slurring even as it struggled to keep tune. "Are older than sod!"

"GGGGGGGRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRR!" Chewie either joined in or told him to shut up. 

"And their beards --" Something clanged, just before the hollow thump of a body sounded. "I'm fine! Their beards, they tumble down to their tits. C'mon, hairball, sing it --"

Luke was very much back in his body now. All thoughts of sparks, all sense of the Force, had vanished. They were replaced by all-too familiar irritation and, unfortunately, concern.

Han thought he was much better at holding his drink than he actually was. And Chewie was more liable to give him more than he was to put a stop to it.

"With one single bump of her ponderous rump! She can grind your poor pecker to bi-i-i-its!"

Luke followed the thumps and curses toward common area. There, a filthy, mud-spattered Chewbacca loomed over the banquette. When Luke padded into the lounge, Chewie turned and moaned a long complaint.

Past him, Han was sprawled on the bench, elbows up on the back, legs akimbo. He looked about as worse for wear as Chewie, shirt torn open to the waist, bruise blossoming on his cheek, yet nothing could wipe the half-smirk off his face.

"Settle down, you magnificent excuse for a Wookiee. I already apologized for distressing -- disturbing -- distracting -- that matted disaster you call your coat."

Chewie moan-grumbled again, throwing up his arms and shaking his head before stalking away.

"Give my regards to the, the --" Han slumped back. He circled one hand vaguely. "Those guys."

"What did you do to his coat?" Luke asked, and handed Han a flagon of water.

From the passage, Chewie mournfully grumbled. 

Han rolled his eyes. "Melodrama, it grows all over 'em worse than the moss." He leaned forward again. "You hear me? Worse than that stinking moss! I did you a favor, when you think about it!"

With a curt bark, Chewie stomped away down the ramp.

Han rubbed his chin, smiling secretly to himself. "I may have, ah. Relieved my nausea all over him."

Grimacing, Luke pushed the flagon across the chess table. "Drink up."

Han eyed it suspiciously. "What sort of trick you trying to pull, kid?"

"Forget it." Luke reached to take the water back. He'd cleaned up any number of Uncle Owen's drunken messes, but at least he'd gotten a shamefaced thanks for his troubles. Han wouldn't know how to say thank you if he were being dangled by the ankles over a black hole.

Han grabbed him by the wrist. His hand was sweat-clammy, but his grip was almost grindingly strong. "Now, now, don't be so fussy."

"I'm not fussy," Luke muttered. He knew he was undermining his case, but he could be just so _irritating_. Drunk, everything awful about him seemed to be magnified. He was louder, ornerier, sweatier, crankier.

To be honest, everything, not just the awful parts, was magnified about Han just now. The sweat made him shine in the dim half-light, drew the eye down his throat as he guzzled the water, down to his open shirt, the broad planes of his chest. Most people, Luke would assume, are blurred and ugly when drunk. Leave it to Solo to buck _that_ trend, too.

"What?" Han demanded as he set down the empty flask.

"Nothing."

"What're you doing up, anyway, kid?" Han wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. "Bad dreams?"

"No," Luke said, resisting the urge (this time, at least) to protest that he was far from being a kid.

"'cause you know," Han said, low and conspiratorial, as he leaned over, moving his hand up Luke's arm to grasp, then massage, his shoulder, then the back of his neck. "There's lots of ways to deal with that."

"I was already up." He wanted to move under Han's touch. Not away, necessarily. Just...move. Into it, under it, with it.

This close, he could smell the Corellian brandy and sweat, traces of various smoked aromatics, all the evidence of just another night out on the town. Han had been more places, done more, than Luke could imagine. His experience was a chasm between them.

"You should magic up a lullaby," Han said, pulling away, grinning wide and obnoxious. "Maybe some hot bordok milk. Drift away to sweet, sweet dreams."

Where his hand had been, the skin burned cold across the nape of Luke's neck.

"You're the big sorcerer," Han continued, then paused to struggle to cross his legs and start unlacing his knee-high boots. His foot kept slipping off the opposite knee, and he tried, failed, tried again, to catch it, to get it back in place, then tackle the laces.

It served him right. Luke watched, admittedly enjoying the sorry spectacle, while Han struggled, cursed, and occasionally tried to finish his latest attempt to mock the Force and those who communed with it.

"Planning to lend a hand any time soon?" Han peered up at him, sweaty locks of hair in his eyes, as his foot thumped back to the floor.

Luke licked his lips and shrugged. "Are you asking for help?"

Han huffed out a sigh and threw himself backward. "Forget it. I don't need your help, or any stupid Wookiee's, or, or --"

"Someone needs a little bordok milk, but it isn't me," Luke said, sinking to his knees and bending over the mess Han had made with his laces. He glanced up when Han tried to push him away, but missed, hand flailing wildly on thin air. "Sit still, would you?"

"Or what?" Han muttered sulkily, but he complied, making a show of crossing his arms and taking a deep breath.

The laces were knotted beyond hope, and sticky with something that Luke dearly hoped wasn't vomit. He traced the tail of the biggest knot with a light finger, letting his eyes drift closed, probing the Force to find the right path.

It was easy, once he found the lace's need to run straight and free.

"Kark, kid," Han muttered, as the lace slithered free of its loops. 

Startled, Luke dropped his hand and sat back. A little dizzy from the Force contact, he shook his head to clear it. His mouth must have fallen open, because it was very dry. "What?"

Han was looking down at him. His sweat-shiny face was flushed, his lips parted. "Nothing. Just..." He reached over, fingertips brushing the hair back off Luke's forehead. 

Maybe the Force was still swelling within him, but the touch jolted Luke far out of proportion to its strength. He jerked away, then back, seeking the contact again.

Han no longer sounded obnoxious. Not even all that confident. More curious, wondering. "Just, you got a face..."

"I do, it's true." Luke sat back on his heels. Time to humor the drunk old man, and soon enough he could be dragged to his bunk to sleep it off. "I have a face."

"For cocksucking," Han concluded. He was smirking again, shimmying down a little, somehow growing even more loose and comfortable. He reached toward Luke again, fingertips finding Luke's cheek, then his jaw. He turned Luke's face this way and that while his thumb stroked Luke's lower lip. "Perfect."

"Uh --" Luke got out just the one syllable before Han's touch firmed, his grip tightening. His fingers dug into Luke's cheek while his thumb mashed Luke's lip against his teeth.

"Yeah," Han murmured, cocking his head, and the way he looked at Luke felt like it stripped him naked. "Damn shame."

"What is?" Luke asked, turning slightly against Han's grip, testing it.

"Face so perfect, on a kid who doesn't know the first thing about anything." 

Luke opened his mouth to protest and stopped when Han did two things: smirked at him, because of course he'd said that on purpose, and hooked his thumb over Luke's teeth, dragging him forward.

"No, no, Mr. Solo, I know lots and lots! I'm a good boy and I'll show you!" Han sing-songed, sounding _nothing_ like Luke, as Luke shuffled forward, lest his teeth get pulled out by a drunk madman. 

Suddenly quiet, Han gazed down at Luke; not quite smirking, not any longer. Luke was right between his legs now, hands on Han's thighs. He closed his mouth around Han's thumb, grazing the knuckle with his teeth, and returned Han's gaze as steadily as he could manage.

Han's impression of him might be off, but there was truth down at its core. They both knew that Luke would do anything he needed to do to prove himself.

"Kid..." Han started, tugging his hand back, then running it through Luke's hair. He patted Luke's head awkwardly, then cupped his neck. "Kid, don't, I'm --"

Luke didn't say anything. Han was the one who talked too much. Instead, he unfastened the fly of Han's breeches, let his touch graze and linger on the growing erection within.

"Well, hell --" Han lifted his ass a little off the seat as Luke got the breeches open. "If you insist."

Luke moved cautiously, but rapidly, taking Han's cock out with both hands, grasping the shaft and tilting his head to get a better angle. On the crown of his skull, Han's hand settled heavily, awkwardly. 

Luke glanced up one more time, saw Han looking back at him with shiny face and open mouth, his teeth a white gleam, his eyes dark. When he pushed forward, dragging the flat of his tongue up the side of Han's shaft, from root to the flared head, Han scowled, then threw his head back against the wall. All Luke could see from this angle now were the thick cock in his hand and a section of Han's chin, far away, upward, sharp against the dark.

He tasted the thick, almost vinegary sweat caught in the hairs around the base of Han's cock, and licked back upward, until the thin, sharp taste of pre-ejaculate coated his mouth. Han was unusually, uncharacteristically quiet; he had his free hand curled into a fist, stuffed into his mouth, while he gripped and twisted at Luke's hair with the other. When Luke had thoroughly wetted the cock, tip to base and back up again, and he closed his lips around the head, Han grunted. The sound was throaty, needy, maybe the most honest thing Luke had ever heard from the man.

He pushed his mouth downward, spit catching at the corners of his lips, Han's cock throbbing against his palate. He pushed, and swallowed, and raised himself up a little higher, changing the angle, curling his tongue, until Han yelped. Han was curled forward again, both hands on Luke's head, almost cradling it.

"Look at me, c'mon kid, just farkin' _look_ \--"

Luke's gaze flickered back up; the angle was all wrong, and he couldn't resolve what he was seeing, but Han was petting his hair, pulling his head back, setting the rhythm again.

The motion reverberated through Luke, the simplest sort of push-pull, suck in air and swallow, as Han's cock swelled and scraped his mouth, filled him up.

"Yeah," Han was crooning, "yeah, kid, that's _it_ , that's just it, you're the _best_. The things I could do to you, you, you --"

Luke got his hand on the base of Han's cock, thumb strumming at his balls, and moved faster, trying to catch the shudder and thump of the cock itself. He wanted to keep looking at Han, didn't want to break that, but sweat was stinging his eyes and he closed them, throwing himself into the act. He _saw_ himself there, face buried in Han's lap, even as his nose scraped pubic hair and his chin bumped his own fingers. Saw a bowed blond head, graceful curve of a spine, and felt desire pumping through him. His own, but more than his own, not just the need to be touched, but the sweet, tight burn of being sucked _right then_. Hips lifted and thrusted, he felt cock abrading his throat at the same time as tight, wet muscles closed around that cock.

He was sucking, and being sucked, down here and up there, Luke and Han, so when the orgasm came, exploding from the base of the spine, fluorescing hot and pumping cum, they both moaned and cried out. They both came.

Sharply, finally, Luke snapped back into his own skin, his own mind. He sagged between Han's legs, gasping for air, hocking cum.

"What the _kriffing_ hell was that?" Han sounded angry, but distantly. Hoarsely. There was a long pause while he seemed to think about his own question. Neither of them really wanted to answer that. Finally, a little more kindly, he said as he poked Luke's shoulder, "Kid? You all right down there?"

Luke raised his head with difficulty. His lips were sticky, his eyes still burning. "I'm great. You?"

Han shook his head, half-smile firmly back on his lips, as he tucked himself back into his breeches. "Me? Never better."

"Have some more water," Luke told him as he struggled to his feet. His legs were noodley and he had to grab the edge of the table to keep from falling. "You're going to feel it in the morning."

Han reached for him, but only managed to graze Luke's arm. "You need a hand, maybe? Repay the favor, like?"

Luke tugged the wet fabric off his crotch and shook his head. "Already taken care of." 

Han slumped down. "Oh."

He sounded morose. He was still drunk, Luke reminded himself, and prone, like any drunk, to abrupt shifts in mood.

"Drink your water, get some sleep," Luke told him, patting Han's shoulder heartily as he moved past. "I'll see you in the morning."

He was very pleased with himself, all things considered.


End file.
